The Doctor and Christine
by VulcanComander
Summary: Rose Tyler goes to a Halloween frat party dressed as Christine...alone. Yet, she gets all these compliments on her "couple's costume" with the Phantom. Who is this mystery man? And what secrets lay behind his mask? Based off the prompt: Everyone thinks we came to this party as a couple because our costumes match what's your name AU


Rose Tyler examined herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. "Not bad, not bad _at all,"_ she thought as she slightly adjusted her chestnut-brown wig, which was necessary because she was a blonde and her hair was much shorter than Christine's, her costume for tonight. All in all, she was quite proud of herself and her first-ever DIY costume. Aside from the wig, the corset, and the enlarged flower that she stuck onto her wig, she had managed to find the right plum-colored cloth for her mother to make her own long skirts that matched the original very closely. Rose tied her corset in the front, not too tightly in case there was free food available, but she did not fasten it too loosely in case there were any cute college boys at the party. She did not want to look like a curve-less rectangle with too much room in her costume.

Rose was relieved to have gotten Halloween off from her job, which had grown increasingly hectic. The customers at the store have recently been overwhelming with their lack of common sense and general rudeness. "You guys are putting up stuff for _Thanksgiving_ and _Christmas_ already? It's barely Halloween!" an older man nagged last week. When she tried to explain that some people prefer to get their shopping done early, or perhaps buy a little at a time, he promptly said, "Well then poor people shouldn't celebrate Christmas". Rose shook the horrid memory away and smiled once more at herself, Christine from _Phantom of the Opera_ , before she grabbed her bag and started to head out the door.

"Mum, I'm leaving!" she exclaimed, trying to talk over the sound of her mother's hair dryer.

"Alright, love, take care. Don't drink anything that someone else has given you...and don't drink too much of anything! I don't want you to come home with your breath stinking of beer. I know how those parties get! I was a college girl, too, you know. Maybe you'll find your _secret admirer,"_ reminded her mother, the last part said in a sing-song voice. Rose smiled as she glanced into her bag at the invitation, left anonymously at her front door.

"Mum, it probably isn't a _secret admirer,"_ said Rose, secretly hoping she was wrong and someone _had_ left it specially for her. Her last relationship was with Mickey, but that did not too well. They were two pieces of a puzzle that did not quite fit together, not matter how hard they tried to bend and squeeze and contort themselves into the other's shape. All was not lost, however, and they remained friends. 'If there is such a thing', thought Rose, 'Being only friends after something like that?' She was no fool. She could see the way Mickey looked at her when he thought she was not looking. Rose knew that he could make some girl very happy; she just was not that girl.

She left her apartment, careful to lock the door, and made her way to the street corner to catch a cab. The college the Halloween party was being held at was only a few blocks away, but she did not want to get all sweaty while walking and show up looking like a soda can that had been left out of the fridge too long.

After a short but intensely awkward drive (the driver would not stop telling her about how he sees Mordor when he trips on drugs), she arrived at the college fraternity house which hosted the party. " _This is AMAZING!"_ she uttered. The frat house certainly looked festive. Fake spider webs and giant, mutant spiders streamed down the front ionic columns of the building's front entrance. Life-like skeletons hung from the roof and windows, fake blood was smeared on the sides and windows of the house, and prosthetic zombies emerged from the dug-up ground. Boorish, heavy-set college thugs who got a kick out of jump-scaring party-goers lurked behind trees and lurched out towards their unsuspecting, masked victims. Rose looked distastefully at the tall shrubs on either side of the entry way, knowing what would happen. As expected, two cretins dressed as the Scream leapt from their hiding places and lunged at her with a plastic knife. She feigned a yelp, lifted her skirt a few inches, and kicked the perpetrator to her left squarely in the groin.

" _BLOODY HELL!"_ he said, as he knelt over in pain. His companion, while snickering, walked over to his side. " _What the hell is WRONG with you, bloody bint!?"_

 _"_ There's nothing wrong with me, you git. Why the hell are you creeping up on people?!" Rose defended.

Ignoring the boys' comments, she walked over the hurt one, and into the party. Intense house music pumped through the house. Girls in slutty costumes grinded on douchey-looking boys. Other attendees were dancing conservatively. A DJ impersonator was manning the music stations. Couples and complete strangers made out on the stairway. Some people lingered near the drinks - the juice and the beer. On the other side of the room was a long table with finger food- hotdogs, burgers, an untouched salad plate, pizza, mozzarella sticks and other foods common in a lunch cafeteria. Rose made her way there, to this haven of seclusion. 'Maybe I can avoid these people by...food! Oh, yes, sweet, precious food', she thought, hearing the growls of her insatiable stomach, and thankful that the music drowned out its overwhelming cries of hunger.

She picked up a slice of pizza and turned, only to come too close to a young woman, maybe twenty years old, dressed as Wonder Woman. A very...promiscuous... Wonder Woman. Suddenly, Rose felt very out-of-place here, amid all these scantly-clad students and invitees.

"Hi there. Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," she said with a smile.

"It's alright. I like your costume. I loved Wonder Woman as a kid," laughed Rose.

"Thanks. Are you alright?" The girl placed a hand on her shoulder. "You look nervous".

Rose instinctively looked at her hand for a moment before smiling and assuring that she was indeed fine. "Yeah, i'm alright. It's just that," she scoped the room once more, taking in all the unrestrained and corybantic activities that were going on around her, "I don't think I'm dressed for the occasion. "

The girl released her grip on Rose. "No, you're not. You look very beautiful. Not like some of the other women here...not that I'm coming on to you," she added quickly. "Not that I _wouldn't_ , I mean, you're clearly very pretty, and your eyes are stunning, but I already have a girlfriend. Sorry, I'm being stupid. I might have had one beer too many," she explained with a giggle. Rose smiled awkwardly.

"Thank you".

"Oh, I just wanted to tell you that I like your couple's costume. With that other man, in the mask? I wish Heather and I had done something creative like that. We could have gone as Harley Quinn and Joker. OH! Or maybe beer pong. Like, she could have been the red cup and I could be the ball. But a sexy ball, ya know? But no, she was like, 'Oh, Amber, it's just Halloween, just dress up in something that isn't too slutty and have a good time," rambled Amber.

"I, uh, I'm sorry about that, but there's always next year!" stated Rose hopefully, "But I didn't come here with anyone. But I'll tell him when I see him about our conversation. I'm sure it will be a laugh."

Amber left shortly afterwards to dance wildly in the middle of the center room, nearly tripping on furniture multiple times. She seemed like a nice person. 'Definitely fun at parties...when she isn't chatting your ear off', though Rose. As she continued with her night, eating, petting the cat that wandered through the party, wrapping itself around the legs of attenders and eating food off of abandoned plates at intervals, and dancing. All the while, she was constantly complimented on her skillfully coordinated couple's costume with the Phantom. Marveled by this coincidence and hoping to find this man, she began to ask people about him.

"Sorry to bother you," she said to a killer clown, "but have you seen a man in a mask?"

The clown chortled rudely before muttering, "You have to be more specific than _that_ love."

Slightly irked, Rose quipped, " A white mask. Covering half his face. Wearing a black cloak."

The man in the costume laughed a bit under his breath and said, "Oh, yeah. He burst in through the door earlier tonight singing. Something about the 'music of the night'".

Rose thanked him and began to search the frat house. The bedrooms were occupied, and in the bathrooms at least one person was huddled over , cradling the toilet. In the kitchen area, people were making sandwiches and raiding the beer stashed in the fridge. On the dance floor, sweaty, barely-clothed people cavorted to the beat of the music...if that's what the deafening sound could be called. He was nowhere to be found, this _mystery man..._ this _phantom._

Utterly exhausted from this search, Rose collapsed into an armchair in the corner of the room, defeated. She soon wished that she had looked before sitting down before actually doing so because her bottom soon crashed onto long, intermingled legs and her back squished folded arms. A short yelp escaped from beneath her, and, while profusely apologizing, she rushed to get back up, which only resulted in her stepping on the man's foot.

"I am _so, so sorry,_ I should have looked before I sat down, did I hurt you?" rushed Rose, panicking as her face contorted into an expression of worry. She was finally able to look at the person she had nearly injured. He was handsome. _Very_ handsome, actually. He was clearly tall, even though he was sprawled out on the chair at the moment, because his long legs jutted over the arm rest. From a quick glance, Rose noticed his brown eyes, combed brown hair (which was now slightly distorted), and thin lips pulled into a smile that seemed so natural, as if that were his "default" face, the expression he always wore. He was considerably older than her, she estimated he was in his thirties. Not that that was a bad thing. Rose's friends sometimes joked that since she sometimes found older men attractive, she might marry someone older than her mum. But being thirty or so was not really _old_ in her book. Not that she felt any instant attraction. Nevertheless, she could admit he was handsome.

He laughed for a few seconds before standing up and said, "Oh, no, no. I'm fine, you didn't hurt me. I might have given _you_ quite a start, though". His smile softened as he looked at the woman in front of him.

" _OI! You're him..._ the Phantom!" exclaimed Rose in ecstatic realization.

The man raised his eyebrows, not in confusion, but in surprise. He was relieved that _someone_ understood his costume.

"Oh!" his voice grew higher, "Thank you very much. You make a lovely Christine, if you don't mind my saying so. "

"I don't mind," Rose laughed, a smile spreading across her face, matching his. "You know, I've had people come up to me all night, thinking we were a couple."

"Because of the costumes?"

"Yeah! I love this, though. Your vest looks so old. So _vintage._ Was it expensive?"

"No, not really. It's...uh...been in my family for a long time. It was originally worn in the 1925 silent film production of _The Phantom of the Opera._ It wasn't bad."

"That's beautiful. Meanwhile, the oldest thing in my family is probably that old soup in the back of the fridge that's been just _sitting_ there for ages," said Rose, before looking away in slight embarrassment and mentally kicking herself for saying something stupid like that.

"Hmm... I don't know...that soup might be older than the vest," joked the man.

"Oh, silly me, I haven't introduced myself. Sorry. I'm Rose, and I am really, _really_ sorry for stepping on your foot. And crushing your legs with my arse."

"It's a pleasure to be stepped on and... _slightly_ disfigured by you, Rose. My name is John Smith," he said, and shook her hand.

A new song started to blast, and some drunkards had awoken from their alcohol-induced sleep to 'dance' in the middle of the room, rudely shoving past John Smith and Rose Tyler.

"Rose, I - it _is_ Rose, isn't it? Yes? Good. Rose, do you want to have our chat outside? It's getting very, eh, loud in here". Rose nodded, shifted her bag onto her shoulder, and he followed her out the door, where they sat on the front step. Rose sat with her legs crossed. As John swept back his cape to sit down, he revealed a pair of vibrant, rather worn Converse sneakers, looking very out of place with the rest of his garments.

"What's with the shoes?" she asked.

John glanced down at his feet like he forgot he was wearing shoes. "Oh, these? I don't know. I just like them. I like red. Also blue, especially navy blue. You know, they say colors are supposed to change a person's emotions, like blue makes them mellow, yellow makes them feel awake, and red gets you excited. Actually, red is a really _intense_ color, really bright, so it makes your heart beat faster. Or hearts. Depending on which planet you're from. Maybe red has the same effects on people from other planets. Do you believe in aliens?" he asked rather quickly. She shrugged a bit, then nodded, as to say, 'I don't know, there might be. We can't be alone in the dark void of space'. Rose liked how he talked fast, like his brain was processing thoughts faster than his mouth could _articulate_ them, and his tongue and lips were constantly in a race to finish the phrase and only _barely_ making it in time. When he was _really_ getting into the topic of discussion, there was barely _any_ breathing time in between sentences. "Red is also the color of love. The reason is actually quite beautiful and poetic. It's the color of fire and blood, and it's associated with energy and power and desire - some _pretty_ primal features, but it makes humans who they are. I love humans. So interesting. So much love, it's always _there -_ even amid all the hate and wars which are constantly fought over such _trivial_ matters. The pursuit of ownership. The conquering of land and people. So destructive, but still so beautiful." He slowed a bit as he reached the end of his dramatic, thoughtful deliverance. The pair sat together, in silence; Rose - feeling so minuscule, so suddenly unimportant in the grander schemes of the universe- glanced beside her towards John, who just stared wistfully fixated on the tree on the corner of the lawn in contemplation. No...in _memory_.

"What's underneath that mask? I wonder what you look like under it," she whispered, not wanting to break the dream-like, whimsical air of the conversation. John broke from his trance and looked once again at Rose. He stretched out his legs and folded them and he pulled his white mask that covered half his face over his combed-back hair. With his free hand, he ruffled his hair so that it sprang out from all sides and majestically trembled whenever the wind blew.

Rose was finally able to take in the naked beauty of his eyes. Of all his features, his eyes were the most alluring. They were brown, but not _just_ brown. Brown eyes are never _just brown._ They are the color of hot chocolate at the end of a bitter, Winter day. They are the hard earth, kissed by the Spring rains, out of which sprouts new life. They are warmth, and comfort, and 'the window to the soul'. 'If that's true, then his soul must be ancient,' thought Rose. His brilliant eyes, spots of russet brown hugging lighter hues, like sunlight shining through a glass of whiskey, held so much strength and so much resilience, despite ages of trial and weather.

Rose sat there, for what felt like an eternity, staring into his eyes which held so many secrets. She did not want the 'eternity' to become awkward, so she forced herself to look away, to look at something else. Anything else. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his sharp, thin nose to his thin lips which curled upwards into a natural smile. Rose cleared her throat.

"I love your eyes," she said.

His grin grew and he said, "Me too. I like _your_ eyes, that is. Not mine. That would be a bit narcissistic, now, wouldn't it?" Rose laughed wildly, for no reason in particular, and John giggled in return. A few moments passed, with their fits of laughter (caused primarily by how hilarious each other's laugh was) breaking the silence on the steps which contradicted the still-beating songs from within the frat house.

After the laughing died down, they spent the next few hours talking...about nothing in particular. First about _The Phantom of the Opera_ and whether they preferred Christine to be blonde or brunette, about whether Erik really loved her or not, about the operas he liked that Rose had never heard of because she preferred things from this century (and some classical), about their favorite foods (a common preference turned out to be fish and chips), and about their favorite books. She told him about how she and her mother both work, about how she wants to go to college but she was not sure for what, and about how her father died in an accident when she was younger. He told her about how he lost his family, and how he was just lost now - wandering.

Rose told him about how she does not know what her path is, or if she even _has_ one, but she hopes she does and that she will find it soon. John assured her, "You will. You might not, of course. But that doesn't really matter, now does it? Because not everyone is supposed to have a path. Maybe their path is to drift. To explore. To adventure. I've seen things I couldn't possibly describe, some too glamorous and others too terrible to properly place words on them. I've felt things that I don't want to feel again. Everything that you are is shaped _by you._ You are controlling the hand that molds you. Maybe it's up to you to put yourself on the path you want. And if all you want to do is...experience new things, then...you should come with me."

Rose's eyes widened and her heart began to beat nervously. She stood up and flung her bag over John's head as he flailed his arms in front of him in defense. " _EXCUSE ME!"_ She gasped in disbelief. "I don't know what it is you're _thinking_ I was trying to get at. I wasn't sending you any signals, I'm not coming _on to you, you bloody pervert. Is that seriously what you thought I was doing?"_

He jumped to his feet, more startled than she was. " _WHAT?! NO, no, no, no, no,"_ he stammered.

"What, 'no, no, no, no, no'? 'Experience _new_ things', that's what you _said! Well,_ Mr. Smith, I don't know what kind of miracle-worker you _think_ you are under the sheets but I have _no desire_ to _test_ that". Rose began to turn away, in utter disgust. She had spent the _entire evening, countless hours_ talking to a guy she thought would have respected her and offered some pleasant conversation and a funny tale to tell at the company party, not try to make her come _come home with him._

John started to walk after her, but was hesitant, in case she would attack him again. To be safe, he hissed from a greater distance, "What are you _talking about?_ I wasn't trying to- I would _never do-_ I didn't mean that, Rose, please!"

Rose had barely made it to the sidewalk's edge when she heard shrill shrieks of terror rip through the air. She turned to the left, the origin of the screams, and was flung through the air into John Smith by a strong, heavy... _wet_ arm? Sprawled on the grass on top of John, they both peered to the right. A tall, hunchbacked creature, unclothed and _bumpy,_ lugged itself hurriedly down the street, with a small, crying boy dressed up as Batman in tow.

Rose looked on with bewildered horror, and shouted, " _WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!_ Was it a bloody _BEAR?! We don't get those here. Someone needs to call the Police."_ She crawled off of John, her legs still numb from the fright. John, wearing an expression of concern, immediately rose to his feet and helped her up, propping her to her feet with his arm around her waist and her arm placed around his neck.

"Rose, are you okay? You're hurt," he said disquietly, motioning to her abdomen, where her corset was slashed by three sharp, long talons. Rose, now able to walk on her own, delicately brushed her fingers along the marks. "No, there's no blood. Wait- there is. Only a little, though. I'll be fine. It will barely leave a scratch. But I won't be able to _wear_ this again," she groaned, "What _was_ that thing? Do you know? Why aren't you calling the _police?!"_

 _"_ Because the police won't know what to do. They don't even know what it is. They'd just try to tranquilize it or shoot it, but none of it will work, and they will all die," rushed John.

"Oh, but _you_ do," Rose said, sarcastically.

" _Yes, actually._ It's a Cubrithian. They're an alien species from Cubrith. They're not a nice group of people, as you can see by the young child being dragged to his death. They're carnivores. Last time I visited, they had just conquered another planet to add to their empire, so they still have food and workers. Today's Earth's lucky day, Rose Tyler, you're not being invaded. But then, why is -OH! I'm bloody _brilliant,_ yes, that makes sense. Of course it makes sense, I said it," John rambled as he grabbed Rose's shoulders and looked into her wide, confused, green eyes, "Sometimes, when a Cubrithian has broken a law - and not just _any_ law, it has to be one of those 'sacred' and important laws, like disobeying the Books of Gharr- they are banished and sent through a portal into a random world, and this time, they sent him _here._ Or 'her', maybe. They don't have genders. _THAT_ is why he's _here._ We have to send him back."

Rose shook away from his grip, and stepped close to him. " _What are you saying? He's an alien? How do you know all this? John, just call the GOD DAMNED POLICE!"_ she argued.

"Rose," he began, "Rose Tyler. I loved the time we spent together tonight, the wonderful coincidence with our costumes and all our conversations. But I must confess that I have lied to you, about many things. My name isn't John Smith. I am the Doctor. I am a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey in the Kasterborous constellation. I don't have time to explain everything to you, but all you have to know is that I can travel anywhere in space and time in a 'spaceship', as you might call it, disguised as a blue police phone box from the 1960's, which is a _whole_ other story in itself. I have seen the ends and the beginnings of worlds, and you can see it too. If you want. We can go for a ride, even just one, if that's what you want. If you don't, that's fine, but I might need your help with the Cubrithian."

Rose started to back away, wondering, 'Why are all the bloody crazies so obsessed with me?' "Listen, this...is not really happening. Don't even think about following me. I'm going to call for help".

Without fearing her wrath, the Doctor bravely grabbed her hand and ran down the street, dragging her behind him. She only followed because she couldn't stop him without tripping and getting hurt, and she figured that he liked her, so he would not hurt her. They made turns, swung around parked cars, and cut through a backyard. Rose's legs were screaming with pain. She did not like to run. But she was good at it when it was necessary, like at present. They made another sharp turn into an alley, and finally began to slow down. After bending over to catch her breath which was trying to escape her, she managed to gather enough strength to look up, and stare in disappointment at what she saw. A police box. A blue police box.

"Well," she gasped, "It's in mint condition". Wordlessly, the Doctor took out a shimmering golden key from his vest pocket and opened the doors just a crack. He stood back to allow her to enter first. When he saw she hesitated, he sighed and reassured her, "I'm not going to hurt you. You can hit me it I do, but it hurts, so I won't try anything." Rose slowly crept up to the doors, swung one open and walked inside. The Doctor remained outside, awaiting her return. Promptly, she returned, wordless, and sat cross-legged on the littered pavement, not really caring about whether or not she got dirty.

"I don't think you're lying. You...can't fake that. It can't be an...illusion. It's...haha...it's _bigger on the inside,"_ she said in disbelief. She strangely felt that he might have been telling the truth before. Even though all her common sense demanded her to leave and call the police, she heard a small, quiet voice from somewhere within her that told her to stay, and maybe...just _maybe..._ he might be right. That voice might have been her inner child who, thankfully, loved imagination and believed in ghosts and monsters and fairies and aliens. The latter was real; were the others? Rose ignored the thought and looked at the Doctor.

"Why don't you...ya know...call your fellow Gallifreyans? 'John Smith, phone home'?" She asked. She wondered what Gallifrey looked like, if it was anything like Earth. She wondered if the Doctor might take her there.

The Doctor shifted his weight, and explained, "I can't. There's no one left. Gallifrey is gone. My people are gone. I'm the last one left".

"I'm...I'm so sorry."

"As am I. But it's a bit ironic, isn't it? In a... _sad_ sort of way...the last of the Time Lords...with no home to go back to. Only all of time and space, for all eternity. Or at least a _really, really, really_ long time," he added when he saw Rose's eyebrows shift in sadness and her lips, which were usually turned into a smile, drooped downward.

Rose got up from the ground and stood beside her new friend. "Alright. How do we nab this thing, the...Cubrithian?" The Doctor looked at her and smiled, at nothing specific, just _her._

"Oh, and for our first trip - surprise me," she beamed, her rosey-pink tongue sticking through her brilliant white teeth. The Doctor grinned back at her.

"Perhaps the crystal caverns of Beoturn. OH! The red lakes of Shyspo is nice this time of year. Well, there's only _one_ time of year there, and it's always hot. You might need a change of clothes. It's alright. You could have your own closet."

"There's a _closet?"_

 _"Where did you think I got my clothes from?_ And of course, you'll get the other bedroom."

"Oh, how kind of you. And here _I_ was, thinking you didn't _need_ sleep," joked Rose.

The duo started running down the street again, following the rogue Cubrithian's trail. While they jogged, Rose turned towards the Doctor and looked at him for a moment.

"You're not alone, you know. You have me."

"Oh, _do I_ now?"

"Yes, you do".

"Brilliant! Now...allons-y!" he quipped, and they broke into a complete run; the figures of the Phantom and Christine, dashing off into the night, following a man-eating alien, entering a new, _amazing_ chapter in Rose's (and the Doctor's) life.


End file.
